


Trust

by DearLazerBunny



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-25 22:25:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17129828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DearLazerBunny/pseuds/DearLazerBunny
Summary: Something that’s been floating around in my brain for a while now, figured i’d just get it out there. Enjoy!





	Trust

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: mentions of mugging w/ a firearm

Peter woke up in a bed that wasn’t his, and that had definitely never happened before. He kept still, subtly feeling for his suit by rubbing two fingertips together. Not there. Uh oh. But his mask is still on, he can tell by the way the light is filtering through the eyepieces. So at least there’s that. Something on his right side hurts like crap but he can’t tell what it is yet. Okay. Just stay calm. You can figure this out. You always do. He opens his eyes.

Directly above him is a poster of Starry Night, angling a little off the ceiling where the pins aren’t keeping it in place quite right. The bed is soft, and there’s a pillow behind his head. Mismatched blankets are covering him up to his neck. Interesting. Not one of the worst places to wake up. Now if he could just figure out what the pain is-

“I wouldn’t touch that.” A voice speaks to his right, and he looks over. A girl is sitting at a desk, books and papers spread out all around her. She’s studying one of the books intently, tapping the butt of her pencil onto the wood in a semi-rhythm. “Just got it bandaged up; don’t wanna mess up the stitching.”

He looks at her for a moment, head rolling to the side. She still doesn’t look at him. So ever so slowly, he disregards the advice and briefly feels the lumpy mass covering his right side.

“Or don’t listen to me. That’s fine. Whatever.”

He stops, fingers hovering over what appears to be a very thorough bandaging job. “S-sorry.”

The tapping stops for a moment, like she’s surprised he spoke. “Good.” She starts writing again.

She looks older than him, maybe in college? And she’s pretty, in an unassuming sort of way. Her hair is pulled back haphazardly into a bun on the top of her head and an oversized sweatshirt hangs loosely off her shoulders. “Where am I?”

She finally glances over at him. “My apartment.”

“Where’s my suit?”

She snorts. “You just got shot and that’s what you’re worried about? A sweatshirt with some bloodstains on it?”

“I… got shot?”

Now she looks at him fully, this time with a hint of concern in her eyes. “You don’t remember.”

“No…?”

She sighs. “You hit your head pretty hard on the pavement. Probably not surprising.”

Peter is silent, absorbing this new information. The pain in his side stabs him with every breath he takes, and all he can think is, wow, so this is what it feels like to get shot. It’s not pleasant. He wouldn’t recommend it.

“Do you remember your name? Where you live?”

He thinks for a moment, then nods slowly. Peter. Aunt May. Ned. Everything else seems to be there. Just… “I can’t tell you, though.”

That makes her crack a smile. “Dude, you’re wearing this horrible handmade mask. Anyone who risks his dignity that much just to keep hidden, far be it from me to spoil the mystery.”

Well that’s good, at least. He reaches up and feels the ragged edge of the hood draped around his neck, and tucks it in more securely.

“Had to cut away the rest of the shirt to get to the wound. Figured between that and bleeding out you wouldn’t care. You’re gonna need a new sweatshirt, though.”

Fair enough. Peter takes a deep breath. “What happened?”

Her sharp intake of breath tells him its nothing good. “I was walking to work. Some idiot pulled me into an alley and tried to rob me. You cane swinging down and put yourself square in between us, but he had a gun. Shot you almost point blank.” She rubs the back of her neck, and he can see mottled bruises on her hand as she does so. “Luckily his aim was terrible. Only grazed you. Probably still hurts like a bitch though.”

He nods in agreement. “Yeah, sorry about that. I snatched what I could to give to you but it’s nothing heavy duty.” Several vials and a syringe sit on the edge of the desk. He can read one. Toradol.

“Where did you get this stuff?”

“Medical student, at your service. Once I dragged you back here I ran to the hospital to get some supplies. Probably not the best move, but the likelihood of you dying while I was gone was slim, so. Especially with your…” she eyes him. “Abilities.”

“Abilities?”

“You’re practically already healed up. That’s some mutant shit right there.”

Ah. Right. That.

“You can’t tell anyone.”

She looks at him. “Why would I?”

Okay. Not the answer he was expecting. “You aren’t… you don’t wonder?”

She snorts. “Look, kid. I’m seven years into school. I got shit to do. You wanna use your superpowers to run around in a shitty costume and help people, I don’t give a crap.”

“I’m not a kid.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Um, yeah, you are. You’re what, fifteen? Max?”

“No-”

“Again, kid, I’m not gonna tell anyone. It’s fine. But anatomy doesn’t lie.”

Humpfh. Fair point.

“Am I gonna be okay?”

“At the rate you’re healing? You’ll probably be good to walk out of here in a couple of hours. Or- swing out. Whatever. Just try and take it easy for a few days, m’kay?”

“No promises.”

She nods. “Yeah. Figures.” And when she turns and looks at him, she actually smiles. A small one, but a smile, nonetheless. It brightens up her eyes. “And, thank you.”

“For what?”

She rolls her eyes, and the moment is gone. “Throwing yourself between me and a gun with nothing but a sweatshirt on? Bold move, kid.”

“It’s nothing.”

Studying him where his face would be, Peter feels his cheeks start to burn. But finally, she turns back to the small pile of glass bottles on her desk and looks them over. “I thought you might say that.” Looking closely at the vials, she selects one carefully. “I want to give you this for pain, but it’s probably gonna make you pass out for a bit. So I won’t give it to you if you don’t want me to. But it’d help the next few hours go by.”

He considers it. She seemed genuine enough. And she hadn’t taken off his mask while he was unconscious, so-

Or maybe she had. He would never know.

But Peter nods. “I trust you. I think.”

She laughs. “Good answer. Move the blankets a bit.”

He does so, giving her access to his arm, while she prepares a syringe. She pokes him with care, even though he can hardly feel it, and he can instantly feel the medicine pulling at his consciousness, calling him into sleep.

“I’ll be here when you wake up.”

…

The sun has set completely when he finally wakes. She is indeed in the room, but completely dead to the world- she’s slumped over her books, almost drooling a bit as she sleeps. He must’ve been out longer than he thought.

Looking around the room, he snags his old sweatshirt and tries to slide it on, but a cut made all the way up the side makes that impossible. So, feeling slightly guilty, he rummages through her drawers until he finds an oversized sweatshirt marked with what’s probably her university logo, and puts it on. Maybe he could return it someday.

Her window is conveniently open to the night air and Peter pushes it open a little wider, preparing to jump- but stops himself. Looks back at her, hunched over her desk. Steals a post it note and a pen from her supplies and writes thank you on it, complete with a little smiley face and a crude drawing of a web in the corner.

And then he’s off into the night, sweatshirt keeping him warm against the chill of the air, side only stinging a tiny bit. 


End file.
